


Hands

by collectiveobsession



Series: Cullen x Evelyn [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Flirting, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 08:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14016786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collectiveobsession/pseuds/collectiveobsession
Summary: She saw everything, noticed minutiae about places and people and she could describe anything in such vivid detail that one knew exactly of what she spoke. The way her hands moved when using magic was lyrical, practiced and fluid. Her stained hands….it all made sense.





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Cullen/Evie pre-relationship fic :) Please leave kudos and review! I also take prompts!

The first time Cullen notices her hands, he barely sees that there is anything wrong with them. They are a Circle mage’s hands: slender, soft, and pale – skin nearly translucent from a lifetime trapped in a tower. Her nails are a rosy pink hue, longer than any soldier’s and carefully shaped. However, they are slightly stained at the tip of the nail and almost down to the first knuckle. Each finger has a faded, dark stain, and he briefly considers that she had probably just come from the training grounds, or finished a missive, hands carelessly smudging across wet ink. Cullen dwells on it no longer than a moment and continues his report to the rest of the War Table, clearing his throat and pretending not to have been staring at his superior.

The next time he notices, it’s not that they are stained again, but rather stained a different color. Evie absentmindedly fiddles with one of the markers on the table and he is shocked by the bright red blots on her hands. He’d first thought her to be bleeding, but quickly hides his panic upon further study that her hands appeared dry, but still vividly crimson. He quirks a brow, but the Inquisitor doesn’t notice his silent investigation, and he files this away amongst the other odd things about this mage he wishes to know.

It is long after Haven is evacuated that he notices her hands again. This time, it is not the color he sees, but rather what they are holding. She is trying to be inconspicuous, slipping from the doorway leading to Solas’ study, but she is the Inquisitor and the woman couldn’t be _more_ conspicuous if she tried (at least not to him). Evie has several bottles gathered in her arms, pushed against her chest so she doesn’t drop them, but they are precariously jumbled as though she has just hastily swiped them and ran. They are differently colored, but Cullen is unsure of what they are. By the looks of her suspicious movements, they are most likely stolen. He is even more perplexed by her than ever.

Cullen finally solves the mystery the first time he goes to her chambers. He is late completing a report for her review, something he is already horrifyingly embarrassed about, and it isn’t until he has run across Skyhold and trudged up her stairs that he realizes that it _is_ late. He’d passed up dinner in order to finish the report that is already so overdue and the entire stronghold has already bedded down for the night. The nighttime guards have taken their posts and started their rounds and he flushes at what it must look like for the Commander to be sneaking up to the Inquisitor’s quarters so late at night. Truly, he’d just wanted to get this report to her after putting it off for so long, he’d been so busy…

But he’s already here now and what else is he supposed to do? A gentleman would simply turn and leave, but this isn’t like that; she is his superior and he’d promised to have this to her tonight…just not so _late_.

Cullen balks for a moment, or maybe an hour. Finally, steeling his courage and his embarrassment, he gives a sharp, quick rap at the door. He holds his breath and worries that she’s asleep, or maybe he’s waken her up, or maybe she’s with a lover…oh Maker, why hadn’t he thought of that? His face reddens even more and he tries to push the thought of her with someone out of his mind for it makes his chest tighten uncomfortably and he runs a hand through his hair as he fights the thought of bolting. Maybe she hadn’t heard him and he should just leave right no-

“Cullen?”

“I am so sorry to bother you. I didn’t realize how late it was until I was standing here. I got the Redcliffe report done and I know I promised it to you last week and I am so sorry if you’ve got, erm, _company_ and I-”

But Evie just laughs, a soft melodic thing and he sees a faint blush on her cheeks that only makes his neck even hotter. She waves a dismissive hand and shakes her head.

“No, I’m not… _occupied_ ,” She laughs and shakes her head again, almost in embarrassment, he thinks. This second wave catches his eye and he sees that her hands are stained again. This time, she is a royal shade of violet.

Maybe because it is so late and he is too exhausted for a filter, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind:

“Why are your hands always stained odd colors?” She looks at her hands and now he is certain she is blushing.

“Not very good at washing my hands, am I?” Evie gives a wry smile, “Can’t put anything past you, Commander.” Her wink sends a new wave of heat to his face.

“Come on, let me show you…” She widens the door and reveals another flight of stairs. They are almost to the top when she stops suddenly and turns to him, “Please don’t laugh.”

Her eyes are looking everywhere but him and she nervously tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Cullen is more confused than ever by this. What could she possibly be revealing to him? Has he ever seen her so uncertain, so _human_? Sometimes, he forgets that she is just like everyone else and that the title of Inquisitor is just a title, not this woman…

The room takes his breath away.

Cullen could probably recount every piece of furniture they acquired to outfit her chambers: Josephine and Leliana spent an inordinate amount of time discussing it at the War Table, a subject that truly put him to sleep. But, he had never actually seen this room. A lavish, Orlesian style bed took up a good portion of the opposite wall, decked out with dark, heavy drapery and the fluffiest bedding he’d ever seen. The windows were magnificent and he could just imagine the gorgeous view it gave of the Frostbacks in the daylight. For now, it was all stars against the inky backdrop of the nighttime sky. Framed by the windows was her desk, strewn with a hundred other reports just like the one clutched in Cullen’s hand. He supposed it wasn’t as urgent to her as he’d thought, the stacks of parchment she already had piling up…

The rest of the room, save for a small table and various seating, was all books. He’d remembered her request for as much bookshelf space as they could make, and it appeared that Josephine and Leliana had delivered. He wasn’t sure where she’d acquired all of this reading material in such a short span of time. Certainly she didn’t encounter many bookshops while traipsing across the Hissing Wastes.

Most importantly, however, were the dozens of paintings strewn about and the easel placed in the middle of the room.

_She is an artist._

Several things that Cullen knew about Evie came to mind and suddenly this woman made much more sense to him. She saw everything, noticed minutiae about places and people and she could describe anything in such vivid detail that one knew exactly of what she spoke. The way her hands moved when using magic was lyrical, practiced and fluid. Her stained hands….it all made sense.

He knew his mouth was agape as he approached the canvases, but couldn’t find the wherewithal to close it. These paintings were not like Solas’ murals (she’d been stealing paint from him!); Solas’ art was crude, dream-like images, vague and abstract. Evie’s artwork was… _real_.

She painted life. She painted everything she saw: a lively crowd at the Herald’s Rest, Cassandra hunched over a book in the training yard, the waterfall in the Forbidden Oasis…

Cullen swept his gaze over every painting she had. They varied in size and in subject; some were places they’d traveled, some were of people. He was certain she’d painted everyone in the Inquisition…

“Dorian?” It was half finished, but there was no mistaking the Tevinter mage. It was a battle portrait, fierce and powerful, surrounded by violet lightning – the Templar in him saw the danger, but he could only find beauty in the painting. This talent of hers shocked him, but it fit her so well, Cullen couldn’t understand how he didn’t notice this before.

“He said he was tired of looking pretty.” She rolled her eyes and laughed fondly, absently stirring around the numerous brushes she had in water on a table beside the easel.

“I don’t believe that for a second.” Cullen grinned and she returned it, shrugging.

“He might have said something along the lines of ‘make me look _sexy dangerous_ ’. And so, here we are.” Cullen barked a laugh, crossing his arms.  

“And what about me?” He wasn’t sure what possessed him to say it, but he felt flirtatious, an instinct he tried to tamp down when speaking with her. It was hard to toe the line between professional and coy with her. There was no denying his attraction to her; how his heart raced when he saw her, how much he treasured those moments she came to speak with him…

Something changed between the two of them. He was suddenly standing too close to her, it was too warm, and the candlelight illuminating her face was too soft. She was easily a head shorter than him and looked up at him through long, dark lashes. He noted that her hair was down from its usual bun and that it fell in thick, sandy waves just past her shoulders. He felt his breath quicken and saw her swallow – did he imagine her gaze flick momentarily to his lips?

“I save the best for last.” She whispers as her gray eyes dart across his face, daring him to continue this exchange. He huffed what could have been a laugh or a noise of disbelief. Could it be possible his attraction was not unrequited? He doesn’t quite know how to do this, this flirting business. He’d never truly thought himself worthy of this kind of courting. Maker, this woman sent him reeling.

“Is that so?” He smirks, gaze memorizing every exact detail of this moment. How he wished he had an eye for it like she did; he could relive this a hundred times. She hums in response, a deep sound in the back of her throat.

“Or maybe I just enjoy studying you, Commander.”

Sweet Andraste, if he doesn’t leave now, he’s not sure what will happen.

He remembers, finally, that he is a gentleman, and takes her hand, placing his folded missive in her palm and then turning it over to bring it to his lips. He’s seen nobles do it a thousand times, but doesn’t think that he’s ever actually kissed a woman’s hand. Her skin is softer than he’d imagined and he lingers a moment to place another kiss on the violet-stained fingertips.

She gives a little gasp as his eyes meet hers and he savors the sound. He backs away slowly until he feels the drop of the top step and inconspicuously steadies himself with one hand on the bannister. He gives a little bow and the sultriest smirk he can possibly muster. His heart pounds as he considers the words he’s about to say, praying that they don’t get him thrown right off the battlements for insubordination.

“I’d be happy to pose for you anytime, Inquisitor.”

He darts down the stairs as quickly as he can, red-faced and mulling over all of the terrible things her silence could mean. It isn’t until he’s reached the door that he hears her clear her throat from the top step and he waits a breath before turning towards her.

He ignores how his heart seems to speed up more at the sight of her up there, like Andraste herself descending from the heavens, but he swallows multiple times to manage the sudden dryness in his throat.

“Cullen…” He waits for it, with baited breath, the reprimand that surely must be coming, but his name falling from her lips sounds like the Chant and it is all he can do not to close his eyes and bask in her melodic tones.

He sees her hesitate again and then notices something like resolve steeling in her eyes. Her face softens and her lips curl slowly into a delightful, sensual smile and he is sure that his heart has stopped.

“The light should be very good tomorrow around dinner.” She says, her words playful, “Meet me here for some sketching?”

He nods vigorously, unable to form words in response to her flirting. She grins at his eagerness and turns to go back to her paintings, but stops a moment, eyes glittering,

“And please…call me Evie.”


End file.
